


second life

by silverkatana



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Broken Jeongcheol, Heartbreak, M/M, broken gyuhan, everything is broken, mainly jeongcheol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 15:24:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20817395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverkatana/pseuds/silverkatana
Summary: if we met again in a second life, do you think i could have been your first choice?





	second life

Seungcheol sees himself reflected in Jeonghan’s eyes; he sees the way his hair falls across his face, dark strands messy and uncombed, sees the way his shoulders rise and fall with unsteady breaths faster than they should, sees the way his gaze searches for something in Jeonghan’s own that he doesn’t know how to find.

He feels the way warmth rises to his cheeks and spreads across his face to his ears, feels the way Jeonghan’s breath is gentle on his skin, feels the way the touch of Jeonghan’s fingers are light and fleeting across his lips.

Jeonghan draws him in close, so close that Jeonghan’s breath grows hot on his skin, so close that he loses the reflection of himself in Jeonghan’s eyes and so close that all he can see is the deep brown of Jeonghan’s eyes. And then Jeonghan’s hands are tracing the curves of his jaw, his caress rough and tender all at once, his fingers slipping through the strands of hair falling across his face and brushing across his reddened cheeks.

They’re so close now that Seungcheol can almost feel the touch of Jeonghan’s lips on his own, can smell the faint remnants of the vanilla scent of the dessert they had eaten, can see the flecks of overhead light spilling like gold into the umber of his eyes.

And then Jeonghan moves away, pulling himself away from Seungcheol before their lips can meet, his hands falling away from their position along Seungcheol’s jaw. Seungcheol shudders at the feeling of the cold that engulfs him that comes with the absence of Jeonghan’s warm breath against his skin, watches the way the light slips like broken dust from chocolate eyes, watches the way he re-appears as a reflection, messy hair and unsteady breaths, a hazy figure in a distracted gaze.

Seungcheol lets out a low breath, shaky and unsettled, and fights the urge to touch a finger to his lips, his senses still reeling from Jeonghan’s presence, his eyes still searching Jeonghan’s unreadable gaze and his mind still committing each and every memory to eternity. The silence settles like a thin weight between them, unbroken by their shallow breaths and motionless movement. 

It’s shattered by the sound of footsteps from around the corner, growing increasingly louder with every step. Seokmin rounds the corner, expression bright, voice cheery. “Jeonghan-hyung-”

He sees them - facing each other unseeingly, lips parted with words untold, hands curled into fists gripping air like twin lifelines, thoughts running too fast and too loud but too complicated to be deciphered all at once - and the smile drops from his face, the tone of his voice being replaced with hesitancy. “I’m sorry, was I... interrupting something?” 

Seungcheol watches the way the storm grows in Jeonghan’s eyes, watches the way he bites his lip in unconcealed faltering, watches the way the consternation written in his expression fades into impassiveness and the way the thunder in the brown of his gaze is smoothed into the light drizzle of night rain.

“No,” he says, his voice betraying nothing, and the curve of his lips fall into a gentle smile which he directs towards Seokmin. “No, you weren’t. Did you need something?”

“Uh, we’re supposed to go back to the dorm soon. We have to record tomorrow, so we have to get some rest.” Seokmin shoots a sheepish smile towards Seungcheol and he winces; he supposes his attempt at acting isn’t as good as Jeonghan’s, given the way Seokmin looks like he knows full well that  _ something _ seemed odd, even if he didn’t know what that something was.

Jeonghan lets out a hum of acknowledgement, reaching up with a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes.  _ It looks even more golden in the light,  _ Seungcheol notes distractedly,  _ pretty _ .

He only snaps out of his reverie once Jeonghan begins to walk, his sleeve skimming Seungcheol’s arm just the slightest, and Seungcheol faintly registers that he’s leaving. With Seokmin, back to the dorm. Without him.

His hand wraps around Jeonghan’s wrist before he can fully grasp his own actions; Jeonghan stares back at him, the disarray of emotions conglomerated in his eyes uncovered, his unspoken thoughts scrawled in illegible handwriting across the furrow of his eyebrows and the crease on his forehead, his hesitance making itself known in the way his wrist slackens first and then stiffens again against Seungcheol’s hold.

“I don’t have to go back?” he finds himself asking, ignoring the way Seokmin’s curious gaze flits to the way his fingers are encircled tight around Jeonghan’s wrist.

“Not so soon, the vocal team has to record Second Life tomorrow,” Seokmin explains, “I don’t think the rest of the hip-hop unit are going back so soon.”

Seungcheol lets Jeonghan’s wrist slip out of his grip. Jeonghan’s arm falls limply to the side, and for a fleeting moment of time, his eyes go wide with the turmoil of too many thoughts - and then they’re blank again, dimming into the familiar expression of nothingness. 

“Oh,” he responds hollowly, forcing his lips to curl into an awkward smile as Seokmin shoots him a raised-eyebrow look. “Okay, then. Safe trip.”

“You sure you’re okay, hyung? You’re acting a little weird today.” The genuine concern in Seokmin’s tone makes him flinch a little, and he does his best to school his features, settling on a soft grin in the end.

“I’m fine.”

He hears his own voice echoing around him as Jeonghan follows Seokmin out, leaving him alone to his thoughts under the overhead lights at the end of the corridor. He leans against the wall, suddenly grateful for the physical support it offers, and lets out a tired sigh. 

(It would be nice if he could convince himself that his words weren’t a lie.)

_ Second life, huh? _

_ Do you think we could meet again if we had a second life? _

Seungcheol brings his finger to his lips, tracing the surface that met with the ghost of Jeonghan’s own, and then to his cheek, his exposed skin remembering the warmth of Jeonghan’s touch against it, and then to his eyes, making sure they aren’t wet with unshed tears.

_ I think I’d love you again if we met again in a second life _ .

“I love you,” Jeonghan says, three in the morning when the bags under his eyes are dark and heavy, but the smile clear in his whisper. “You know that, right?”

Seungcheol shifts under his blankets, his fingers drawing lazy circles on the surface of his pillow, eyelids laden with sleep but his tone still wakeful. “Yeah.” He rolls over so he’s facing the other side - where Jeonghan’s bed is - and watches as Jeonghan traces patterns on the blankets in restless half-wakefulness. “I love you too. You know that.”

Jeonghan halts his fidgeting, tucking himself under the blankets instead and going still upon hearing Seungcheol’s words. He’s silent for a few moments that stretch on for so long Seungcheol almost assumes he’s fallen asleep, up until he speaks again, his voice muffled and softer than before. “I know.” And then, barely audible, “I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes and lets his head sink deeper into the folds of the pillow. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A faint mumble, undecipherable, comes in way of a response. Seungcheol can only assume it means that Jeonghan is trying to avoid the conversation, and he exhales long and steady, re-opening his eyes to find Jeonghan staring fixedly up at the hotel ceiling. “Jeonghan,” he tries, soft but loud in the stillness of the night, knowing that Jeonghan can hear, but isn’t listening. “Jeonghan.”

It takes another three reiterations of Jeonghan’s name before the one in question loses patience and turns to look at him, a quiet sigh trailing past his lips. “It’s getting late, Seungcheol. We should sleep, you know?”

“Yeah, we should, so let me say what’s on my mind and then we can both go to sleep.” It brings a small smile to Seungcheol’s face when he sees the way Jeonghan gives up - one of the rare times that Jeonghan actually concedes to him - and makes a feeble gesture in his general direction for him to continue talking.

“Stop apologising,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the way he pulls the blanket up to cover half of his face, but he speaks loud enough for Jeonghan to hear what he’s saying. “I don’t regret loving you, so don’t make me feel like I should be. I don’t. And I won’t.”

“I-”

Seungcheol cuts him off before he can speak. “I know what you’re going to say. We’ve been through this a lot, Jeonghan, and you know I say the same thing every time. I’m not going to regret it, and I haven’t regretted it. So stop saying that I will.”

Jeonghan goes quiet for a long time. Seungcheol knows him well enough to know that he’s not asleep.

“You know the lyrics from the song you guys recorded? Second Life?” Seungcheol murmurs, voice thickened with sleep, and Jeonghan lets out a startled half-chuckle at the sudden mention of the song. “I think if we met in a second life, I’d fall in love with you again. And I wouldn’t regret it there, either.”

Jeonghan’s voice softens, the faintest hints of laughter permeating each syllable. “Stop bringing song lyrics into conversations… You’re talking nonsense at this point, Seungcheol. I think it’s time to sleep.”

“It’s not sleep,” Seungcheol protests, louder than necessary, and pauses for a moment before retracting his words. “I meant to say it’s not nonsense. Don’t laugh at me.”

“You clearly need sleep,” Jeonghan shoots back, releasing a snicker. “It’s time for us to sleep.”

He lets out a huff, but the idea of sleep does sound too appealing to resist at past three in the morning; he lets himself fall into the familiar lull of almost restfulness, feeling his eyelids droop and his body welcome the comfort of sleep.

“Jeonghan?”

Barely any louder than a breath, “Hmm?”

“If we had a second life and we met there, do you think we would’ve fallen in love?”

Jeonghan takes a while to reply, and when he does, each syllable is slurred with sleep, and his words fall out weighted and thickened with languor. 

“I think that would be nice.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol lets the warmth blossoming in his heart find its way to his face in the form of a smile. “I think it’d be nice, too.”

_ In a second life, even if it’s different from this one… _

_ Yeah, I think it would be nice. _

Seungcheol thinks the way that Jeonghan laughs is really nice.

It’s a pure and genuine sound, escaping from in a way that makes his eyes light up with life and his smile dance like a million stars. The kind where it’s easy to get lost in, the kind that easily embeds itself into the memory of one’s mind, the kind that lets happiness blossom forth. 

Seungcheol thinks it really is a nice sound.

It makes him smile, too. It makes him laugh, too. So now he’s laughing too, the light dappling his eyes like golden dust, his cheeks hurting from smiling so much, his gaze drinking in the image of Jeonghan laughing before him, his heart warmed from the comfort of joy. 

(It would be so nice if they could just stay like this forever.)

And then Jeonghan’s breath catches in his throat, and Seungcheol watches the way his eyes look away, past Seungcheol, and Seungcheol watches the way the light in his eyes dim, and Seungcheol watches the way the laughter gets stuck in his larynx and the smile fades from his face.

Seungcheol feels the way his own laughter dies in his throat and the way his smile shatters bit by bit, too.

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he wills himself to turn around, his hands growing clammy and sticky to the touch; he already knows who will be the one standing there.

There’s still a part of him who hopes it wouldn’t be who he thinks it is.

There’s still a part of him who wishes it wouldn’t be who he thinks it is.

There’s still a part of him who doesn’t want it to be who he thinks it is.

Even though he knows that there’s no one else who can make the smile disappear from Jeonghan’s lips like that, even though he knows that there’s no one else who can make the light die from his eyes like that, even though he knows that there’s no one else who can make Jeonghan look like the way he does - stricken, not knowing what to do or where to look, frozen.

He sucks in a harsh breath as he lets his gaze rest on the one who interrupted their happiness.

Even if he already knows who it is.

Standing in the dark of the corridor illuminated only by the faint yellow-white lights, his features are even more well-accentuated, from the sharp angles of his face to the slender length of his body.

(It makes Seungcheol envious, even if he won’t admit it aloud.)

“Mingyu,” he greets, but he doesn’t bother to hide the underlying layer of hesitance in his voice, because he already knows what his fellow rapper has come for. 

Not to call him for a recording, not like Seokmin. Not to tell him something related to the group. 

Not for him at all.

Mingyu hadn’t come for him.

From behind him, Jeonghan shifts, and then there’s the sound of footsteps against concrete, slow at first, then faster. When Jeonghan brushes past him, just close enough for him to feel Jeonghan’s skin against his, he’s forced to remember the day that he caught Jeonghan’s wrist, forced him to stop walking away from him, forced him not to leave, even if it was just for a small moment.

This time, he doesn’t try to stop Jeonghan.

Jeonghan doesn’t look back. 

Seungcheol tries to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him to hold Jeonghan back, to stop him from going away, to prevent him from leaving like that.

Jeonghan keeps walking. Further and further away from him, closer and closer to Mingyu. 

_ Why are you going back to the person who broke your heart? _

His heart hurts in his chest from pounding too harsh against his sternum.

_ Why won’t you find someone who won’t break your heart? _

“Jeonghan.” The name spills from his lips, tangled and uncertain and trembling.

Jeonghan stops, even if it’s just for a moment. 

“Jeonghan,” he calls, a little louder, his voice raw and thin with the weight of too many emotions all twisted together into a mess.

_ Why can’t it be me? _

Jeonghan turns, just a few steps away from Mingyu, and the way the dim yellow-white lights shine make him seem even more ethereal than usual.

Seungcheol sees the way the light falls like gold into Jeonghan’s eyes, sees the way his lips part to let go of breaths that contain words untold, sees the way the thunderstorms brewing in those eyes read too clearly ‘I’m sorry’. 

Love wasn’t supposed to be so painful.

He closes his eyes, committing the deep golden umber of Jeonghan’s eyes to memory, and accepts Jeonghan’s apology.

He stands still, left alone to his own thoughts, and watches as Mingyu’s arm falls into place around Jeonghan’s waist and they begin to walk - away from him - with steps matching too well with one another; he lets himself lean against the wall, Jeonghan’s laughter still ringing too clearly through his mind.

His throat hurts. His heart hurts. His head aches, and so do his eyes, holding back the promise of unshed tears.

He leans against the wall, curls into himself, and allows himself to break.

_ If we lived a second life, would you even have chosen me? _

He sees the pain in Jeonghan’s eyes before he can register anything else.

Jeonghan looks stricken, his hooded gaze filled with stormclouds, his jaw tense and his back straightened as though someone had rammed a metal rod down his spine. Seungcheol swallows thickly at the sight, doing his best to ignore the way Mingyu’s hands rest on Jeonghan’s waist, doing his best to ignore the way Mingyu’s gaze pierces directly into Jeonghan’s, doing his best to ignore the way he’s not the one by Jeonghan’s side.

He climbs the steps, one by one, his footsteps resonating too loudly against the surface. He knows they can hear him; he knows Mingyu knows, from the way his hands drop to his sides and he takes a step back from Jeonghan with a lapse in his breath and a tremble in his fingers; he knows Jeonghan knows, from the way Jeonghan stares over Mingyu’s shoulder straight down at him and lets him see the turmoil and the apology and the sorrow and everything in between in the dark of his gaze, barely concealed between the light rays falling parallel like gold shadows into the depths of his eyes.

He knows Jeonghan well enough to recognise his sadness before Jeonghan utters a single word; he begins to move closer towards the stairwell, watching as Mingyu takes a step back, and then another, and then turns and begins to walk down the staircase, down the same way that Seungcheol is going up.

Seungcheol walks past him, their eyes not meeting; his, trained on Jeonghan’s lone figure, Mingyu’s directed upon the ground in front of him. He wonders if Mingyu can feel the loathing and pain radiating off him, and he wonders if Mingyu knows he doesn’t mean it, that he doesn’t mean to feel that way towards a fellow group mate.

_ But how can I not? _

He reaches the top of the staircase where Jeonghan stands, and they stand like that for a long time, standing side by side without touching, neither of them letting a single word fall past their lips. There’s the sound of Mingyu’s footsteps fading, and then the sound of a door opening and closing.

Seungcheol lets a breath flutter past his lips and out of his mouth. 

_ How can I not, when you’re the one who broke his heart again? _

His throat feels dry, uncomfortable, his legs unsteady, his body weak from resisting the tears that threaten to spring to his eyes. He’s tired of this cycle, something that’s become too familiar, a bittersweet pattern that he’s let himself get too used to.

He’s tired of always being the one to see Jeonghan broken, tired of always being the one seeing the hidden tears streaked through Jeonghan’s eyes amidst the golden light and dark umber, tired of always being the one running after Jeonghan to catch him just in case he fell.

He’s tired of always being the one to watch Jeonghan fall back into the same pattern of loving the wrong person, of always having to watch the way Mingyu’s arm wraps around Jeonghan’s waist like pieces of a mismatched puzzle, of always having to allow the silence of loneliness lull him to sleep in the dark of the night in a room which Jeonghan stopped visiting.

(But he’s not tired of the way Jeonghan traces his fingers along his jaw, he’s not tired being able to see his own reflection in the deep brown of Jeonghan’s eyes amidst the flecks of gold light, he’s not tired of letting himself be lost in Jeonghan’s touch and found again by his sweet whispers and gentle laughter.

But he’s not tired of the way Jeonghan lets him remember love, of three in the mornings in hotel rooms with Jeonghan’s hands in his hair and his laughter in his ears, of sleepy promises and memorising the way his words contain his smile. Or of the way his hand fits around Jeonghan’s wrist, or of the feeling of Jeonghan’s breath warm on his skin and of the hotness of his cheeks when he’s around Jeonghan, or of his touch on Jeonghan’s waist like puzzle pieces falling into perfect symmetry.

He’s not tired of being in love with Jeonghan.)

The cycle of love and heartbreak has begun to exhaust him, wearing at his edges. Yet he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, or whether he still has the energy in him to do either as he tilts his head to look at Jeonghan, whose black hair has fallen in messy strands across his face and whose gaze is searching everywhere but his own.

He’s sick of being Jeonghan’s second choice. Of having to watch each time Jeonghan leaves his side, of having to realise that Jeonghan was never his to begin with. Of having to watch as Jeonghan let his heart get broken, over and over again, and of having to run to him again and again to be there just in case he let himself shatter and break apart.

He’s sick of Jeonghan breaking his heart.

And he’s sick of letting Jeonghan break his heart.

And he’s sick of the realisation that hits him every time, again and again and again, that he’ll continue letting Jeonghan do it, again and again and again.

Even if he’s not the first choice.

Even if he was never the first choice.

Even if Jeonghan forgets it all, the feel of Seungcheol’s skin along his fingers and the way they leaned into each other’s touch and the way they saw themselves in each other’s eyes, or the broken promises and the sweet murmurs and silly professions of love, or the heat on Seungcheol’s cheeks when Jeonghan stood next to him that Jeonghan always teased him about, or the smile on Jeonghan’s face when he slipped his hand into Seungcheol’s and let his head rest against his shoulder.

Even if Jeonghan just sees it all as fading memories.

Because he remembers it all, he remembers enough to make up for everything Jeonghan’s forgotten. He remembers the feeling of Jeonghan’s fingers on his lips, remembers the way he let himself get lost in Jeonghan’s eyes, the dark umber shade speckled with the overhead light falling like gold into them. Remembers the way Jeonghan’s lips came so close to his it almost felt real, remembers the way Jeonghan’s hands caressed his cheeks as though he meant something more than what he was, remembers the way he reached out to grab Jeonghan’s wrist on instinct because he didn’t want him to leave. He remembers their stupid promises, their nights spent alone at hotel rooms promising each other in drowsy murmurs that they would love each other again even in their second lives.

(He would. Even if it meant that he would get his heart broken again in his second life.)

Because he remembers every single moment, because he’s committed every lasting second to memory.

Because he refuses to let them fade into oblivion, because he holds on to their memories tighter than anything he’s ever known, because he lets each and every memory into his heart and remembers love.

Because he remembers it all, every single second, millisecond, fragment of their love.

Even if it wasn’t real.

The tears spilling down his cheek are cold against his skin, and he sucks in a breath at the feeling; his vision of Jeonghan is going blurry, and he stumbles a little closer to Jeonghan, blinking away his tears, his gaze searching, waiting for Jeonghan to look at him again.

They’re running faster, flowing like unsteady streams along his cheeks, and blinking them away renders little use. Seungcheol tries to speak, but his voice cracks before he can say anything, and he lets the words die in his throat.

_ This time, are you going to turn to me again? _

_ Won’t you? _

Jeonghan looks up at him, meets his gaze, and in the brief second that Seungcheol’s vision clears enough for him to see the dark brown of Jeonghan’s broken stare, he reads everything he wished he didn’t, and everything he wished he did.

Apology.

Heartbreak.

Pain.

He teeters forward, his footsteps coming unsteady, his breath catching in his throat at irregular intervals, the tears rendering him barely able to think straight.

Gratitude.

Warmth.

Love.

This time, Jeonghan is the one who catches Seungcheol in his arms, and Seungcheol draws in Jeonghan’s familiar citrus scent against the salt of his own tears, letting himself sink into Jeonghan’s embrace, letting himself get lost in the warmth of Jeonghan’s arms encircling his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan says, his voice low, torn, defeated.

_ You don’t have to be _ .

“You shouldn’t have had to…” Jeonghan breaks off, unable to speak.

Seungcheol understands anyway.

_ It’s okay. _

Jeonghan’s arms go slack around Seungcheol’s body, his hair brushing against Seungcheol’s cheek, and Seungcheol closes his eyes and lets himself draw comfort from Jeonghan’s warmth. 

_ I didn’t mind. I really didn’t. _

_ I don’t want it to end. _

“Jeonghan,” he whispers, feeling the way Jeonghan’s tears are beginning to seep through the material of his shirt, “Thank you.”

_ Even if it wasn’t real. _

_ Even if you didn’t love me the way I loved you. _

He lets his arms wrap themselves around Jeonghan’s waist, holding Jeonghan close to him, memorising the rhythm of Jeonghan’s beating heart. Jeonghan doesn’t try to pull away.

He likes it like that. 

_ In a second life, I think I’d still fall in love with you all the same. _

He’d do it all over again.

_ In a second life, I think I’ll still want to have all these memories with you. _

He doesn’t ever want to forget.

Even with the way it hurts.

The tears are beginning to dry against his cheek and Jeonghan’s shirt, and he lets himself go weak in Jeonghan’s embrace, too exhausted to hold himself together for any longer.

Jeonghan pulls him closer and holds him tight.

Eyes closed, they let themselves come undone in each other’s forgotten familiarity, silent and unmoving, lost and found all at once.

Seungcheol thinks it’s okay like this. It helps him to remember love, even if it isn’t real.

Even if it all turned out like this because he was always the second choice.

(It’s okay, even if it hurts.

It’s Jeonghan, after all. He would do it all over again, even if they had a second life.)

_ In a second life, do you think I could have been your first choice? _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> uHH so fun story: on the day of svt’s comeback i had a dream that involved love & heartbreak & i woke up crying so i tried to channel that pain into writing this, i hope y’all enjoyed (and i hope you cried) < 3
> 
> twitter: @yoonjeongcheols


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